Sniffles and Coughs
by whovianallover
Summary: Sherlock is sick. Molly gets angry when he refuses to take care of himself Post Reichenbach. Sherlolly friendship.


**A/N Hey! Thankyou for all of your kind reviews for Rain, I really appreciate it. This fic has been going around in my head for ages, hopefully I did it justice.**

Sniffles & Coughs

Synopsis: Sherlock is sick. Molly gets angry when he refuses to take care of himself Post Reichenbach. Sherlolly friendship.

Sherlock was in his room, which wasn't unusual at all. What was unusual, though, was the coughing and sneezing that Molly could hear from the kitchen. Since she had woken up, half an hour ago, Molly had been tossing up whether going into his room (which she reminded him constantly since he had moved in after the Fall 3 days ago, that it was a part of _her _flat) was a good idea, seeing as he had marked it as his space within the first hour of moving in. After another five minutes of thinking and her tea cup had been emptied, Molly dropped her cup off at the sink and knocked hesitantly at Sherlock's door.

"Sherlock?"

"What?" he barked. If he was sick, Molly thought, it made him more irritable than ever.

"Are you okay?" she asked, head leaning against the door. There was some silence on his end before he replied.

"No."

Molly sighed. The poor thing must be in a terrible state if he was admitting weakness.

"Can I come in?" Molly said, hoping he would admit her. She knew from when he had gotten sick after a particularly gruelling case that John had complained Sherlock locked himself in his room for a week, just laying in bed, waiting to get better. John always said Sherlock never knew how to take care of himself. 'Transport' Sherlock had said once, 'the body is just transport.'

Idiot.

Sherlock grunted that she was welcome inside his room, "on the condition she not try to help him." Molly agreed, crossing her fingers behind her back.

Pushing open the door, Molly gasped at the sight. Odds and ends littered the floor- papers, pens, an apple (he was eating?) a cushion- tissues were strewn across his bed, on top of a multitude of blankets that housed a poorly looking Sherlock. Sherlock's hair was matted to his head; his usually bouncy curls were dull and knotted. His eyes were grey, lacking the energy they once had and his skin was pale, deathly pale.

"Sherlock!" Molly said as he sat up, "What have you done to yourself?"

"There's nothing to worry about, Molly." Sherlock said. John was right, Molly thought, he really _didn't _know how to take care of himself. Molly was appalled. How did a man in his thirties _not _know how to take care of himself?

"Nothing to worry about?!" Molly almost yelled, sitting down on the side of Sherlock's bed and feeling his forehead. She brought her hand away. "Sherlock, you are burning up. Hold on, I'm getting some Panadol." She began to leave when Sherlock started to climb out of the pile of blankets, she turned and pushed him down gently with her hand on his shoulder. "Oh, no you don't" she chastised, "you are staying in bed."

"Oh, Molly!" he whined, but Molly was having none.

"You are sick, Sherlock, and you are not leaving that bed until you are better." She left without saying another word. Sherlock was such a _child!_

She had arrived in the kitchen and made a beeline for her medicine cabinet. Once there she fished around for some paracetamol. Closing the cupboard door, Molly jumped when she saw a curious face looking down at her. She sighed. "Sherlock, you should be in bed."

"You know very well, Molly, that I don't _want _to go to bed." Molly took a deep breath. _Ugh, _she thought, _I am losing my patience with this man. He is acting like an infant_. _I don't think there is a man on this blue and green _Earth _that tries my patience _half_ as much!_

"Sherlock." Molly said quietly, pronouncing every syllable of his name clearly, "You will come with me, right now, into your room and you will rest. If you choose not to, Heaven help me I will drag you in there myself!"

Sherlock smirked. Molly wanted to slap it right off his face.

Aware that Sherlock wasn't coming,Molly gripped Sherlock's arm hard and half dragged him back into his room. "You will rest!" Molly said through gritted teeth.

In actual fact, Sherlock did feel that rest would be the best medicine for him now, but that didn't stop him from wanting to see how far Molly would go to help him and it didn't stop him feeling happy that although she was angry with him, inside Molly Hooper was somebody who cared a lot about Sherlock Holmes.


End file.
